


Wanderlust

by Syrena_of_the_lake



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Gen, Original Mythology, Sea-longing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:56:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26394517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrena_of_the_lake/pseuds/Syrena_of_the_lake
Summary: A seafarer’s tale of the river’s daughter Wanderlust, and her voyage to the western edge of the world.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 17
Collections: Narnia Fic Exchange 2020





	Wanderlust

**Author's Note:**

  * For [embraidery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/embraidery/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Much Ado about Mutiny](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7919275) by [Syrena_of_the_lake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrena_of_the_lake/pseuds/Syrena_of_the_lake). 



_This—is the land—the Sunset washes—  
These—are the Banks of the Yellow Sea—   
Where it rose—or whither it rushes—  
These—are the Western Mystery!_

— Emily Dickinson

_Go West, young one  
Where waves turn gold  
And where the Sun  
Grows ever old_

_Go West, young one  
While you are free  
Beware the Sun  
Beneath the Sea_

_Come back, young one  
From sunkissed Sea  
Farewell the Sun  
Come back to me_

_Come back, young one  
From utter west  
Return to one  
Who loves you best _

— Istarylene’s Lament, traditional Narnian lullabye

* * *

The wind had died to a trickle, and the _Splendor Hyaline_ glided through the glassy water with aching slowness.

“Let’s have a story, then,” grunted Captain Kraenen.

When Burl the Satyr volunteered to tell it, Lucy slithered down from the crow’s nest. Two gulls landed on the gunwale and pretended to be interested in the angle of the sun or the mysteries of knotted rope. The rest of the crew drifted closer to listen, but their hands were never idle — always weaving nets or patching sails or planing wood. Susan leaned against the helm and closed her eyes.

“Long, long ago, before all the stars in the sky had given their names to sailors below, there lived a Satyr and the Naiad who loved him. Aslan blessed them with a child, born of the river, but with her father’s salt in her veins. Her skin was seal-dark, her hair fell in kelp-curls, and her eyes were like the light that glows beneath the crest of a wave. They named her Istarylene, which in the river’s tongue meant _wanderlust_. And so they wrote their story in the salt and sand, water and wind, and in the name of their daughter.”

“Should’ve named her Clambake,” muttered one gull. His voice carried far in the still air. “Never go hungry again.”

“Shut it!” his mate screeched.

Lucy stifled a giggle. 

Burl opened his mouth, doubtless for a scathing uncouth retort, glanced at Susan, and subsided with an inarticulate mutter. 

Susan, who had been ready to deploy her Most Royal Frown, was satisfied. At least one of her lectures had borne fruit. A pity Lucy had already picked up the most deplorable vocabulary.

Susan would have to compare notes with her.

“Istarylene was born of a wandering river and a lustful Satyr, and one day she followed a current of cold water out to sea.” Burl glared a warning at the gulls, who innocently craned their necks to examine the empty sky. 

“Her parents wept, for they loved her, and called for Istarylene to return, but she told them she could not stay. Not until she had followed the current to the edge of the world. ‘Then will you return to us?’ asked her mother Naiad. Istarylene was moved by pity and by love. ‘When I have seen the sun set beneath the world’s edge, then I will return to you.’ Then Istarylene’s mother Naiad blessed her daughter with a shining tail as golden as the sun, to complete her journey and return more swiftly. Then her father Satyr blessed his daughter with two curling horns as dark as night, to remind her of her parents and her promise. Istarylene made her farewells, but the pull of the current in her heart was stronger, and she followed it out to sea.”

Susan’s heart constricted at the thought of her parents in some other world, missing her and her siblings, waiting for them to return... but then the thought was gone, dissolved like mist in the sun.

“Istarylene followed the current west, to the isles of Man. There she was distracted, puzzling over the strange keels that cut through the water above her, and the strange nets draped over their sides, and the knotted rope trailing in the water. So enthralled was Istarylene that she was captured by a fisherman. He fell in love at the sight of her, he fell to his knees in his boat, and he offered his heart and his future to her. Istarylene took his heart and his net, but told him she could not stay. Not until she had followed the current to the edge of the world. ‘Then will you return to me?’ asked the fisherman. Istarylene was moved to pity, if not love. ‘When I have seen the sun set beneath the world’s edge, then I will return to you.’ Istarylene tied the fisherman’s net around her waist to remind herself of her promise. The rough sun-bleached strands rubbed and scratched against her seal-dark skin, so she would not forget the fisherman. Then she followed the current of cold water back out to sea.”

“Bloody women,” Captain Kaenen grunted. The interruption was so unlike him that, for a moment, all activity on the ship stopped. 

Susan stared at the craggy old Galman, trying to imagine him as a young man in love. She failed utterly.

Kaenen’s scowl grew, and Burl hurried on with the tale. “Istarylene followed the current west, to the siren shoals. There she was distracted, puzzling over the strange music that hissed through the air like waves on sand, although the shore glistened with jagged rocks and the bones of ships that groaned upon it. So enthralled was Istarylene that she was captured by a siren. The siren fell in love at the sight of her, and fell to her knees on the cruel rocks, and offered her heart and her song to her. Istarylene took the siren’s heart and her lyre, but told her she could not stay.”

“Liar!” burst one of the gulls. “She’s a liar!”

“ _Lyre_ , you barnacle-brain, like a harp!” snapped Burl.

“Carp?” The seagulls echoed in unison, their gimlet eyes fastening on Burl. Beaks gaped with gluttony. “Where’s the carp?” they demanded. “We want carp!”

The Satyr looked ready to explode. Susan judged it best to intervene.

“A musical instrument,” she said loudly. The gulls quieted. One of them strode to the stern to sulk, but Susan noticed he kept his head cocked to listen.

“Pray continue, my good Satyr,” said Susan with a winning smile. “We are spellbound before you.”

“Get on with it,” mumbled Kraenen.

“Er, yes sir. Ma’am.” Burl cleared his throat in a sharp bleat. “Uh, where was I?” When not reciting stories or cursing, Burl was not the most eloquent of Narnians.

“Carp,” peeped a seagull timidly.

Burl gripped his horns and shook his head savagely. “Harp,” he gritted. 

“Liar.” The seagull hid his head under one snowy wing. “Lyre,” he repeated quietly, his voice muffled by feathers.

“Istarylene took the siren’s heart and her _lyre_ , but told her she could not stay.” Burl took a deep breath. When no further interruptions materialized, he continued. “Not until she had followed the current to the edge of the world. ‘Then will you return to me?’ asked the siren. Istarylene was moved to pity, if not love. ‘When I have seen the sun set beneath the world’s edge, then I will return to you.’ Istarylene plucked the strings from the lyre and wove them in her kelp-curl hair to remind herself of her promise. The strings shivered and sang in the wind and the water, so she would not forget the siren. Then she followed the current of cold water back out to sea.”

“Istarylene followed the current west, until the sea turned gold with the rays of an aging sun, and the current swirled, undecided, at the very edge of the world. As she watched, the sun sighed and gave itself over to the sea, to be enveloped in waves and the sound sleep of the depths. The light beneath the waves flared and went out. Then all was coldness, dark waters and dark sky, and Istarylene suspended between them. So enthralled was she that at first Istarylene did not notice that she had been captured by the sea.”

“Her wanderlust sated at last, she turned east and began to swim. She swam and she swam until her arms ached and her tail lost its luster, but the current and the cold sapped her strength. At the edge of the world, the waves marched only westward. At last she cried: ‘Woe to my siren, waiting in silence! Woe to my fisherman, waiting on shore! Woe to my parents, who shall see me no more!’

The sea answered her: ‘Cast away your siren’s strings, forget your fisherman, leave your parents’ landlocked home. Stay here with me always, for I love your golden scales and your dark horns and your wandering heart.’

Istarylene cried out in despair. ‘You, who batter my body with waves to imprison me here at the edge of the world — you claim to love me? You, who know my heart’s longing is to wander but deny it for your own pleasure — you claim to love me?’ Her eyes shone like the light beneath the crest of every breaking wave: the green flash before sunset, the gold-touched water, the darkness gleaming below. ‘I have known the love of a siren, who offered me her heart and her song and let me go. I have known the love of a fisherman, who offered me his heart and his home and let me go. I have known the love of my parents, who gave me life and home and the freedom to follow my own heart out to sea. I have known love — and it is not yours!’ Istarylene wept bitterly.

The implacable sea was at last moved to pity. The waters at the edge of the world stilled.

‘If you will not return to me,’ said the sea, ‘at least leave me something to remember you by.’

Istarylene’s Satyr-salt tears filled the sea until it, too, became restless and turned back upon itself. Then the waves bore Istarylene back eastward, where the sun shone higher, brighter, younger. Where the siren still sang, where the fisherman still rowed, where her parents still waited by the shore.”

Burl stamped once, twice, thrice: a Satyr-rhythm to signal the ending of his tale. “And that, my friends, is why the sea is salt, and why no calm can last forever: because the sea, like the river-daughter it loved and let go, must always wander.”

As if the sea itself had been listening, a wave stirred and slapped against the hull. The wind stirred and flapped in the sails. And the seagulls threw themselves into the air, screaming with joy as they were borne aloft. 

“What do you think happened to her?” Lucy asked in a small voice, coming to sit on the rail beside Susan. Her legs dangled, bare and tan and unbefitting a queen anywhere except Narnia. Susan rolled up her own sleeves to enjoy the cool breeze on her skin. “Do you think she ever returned home?”

Sunlight reflected off the water and dazzled Susan’s eyes. The afterimage looked like a door, or a lantern, or... she blinked, and it was gone. 

“I think Istarylene kept her promises,” said Susan carefully. The wind and spray stung her eyes, and she blinked hard. “But...” She could not bear to finish the thought.

Lucy finished it for her. (She always had been the bravest of them.)

“But she never stayed as long as she meant to.”

**Author's Note:**

> Our narrator-Satyr Burl, Captain Kraenan and the seagulls are inspired by _[Much Ado about Mutiny](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7919275/chapters/18095902)_ by Syrena of the Lake.


End file.
